


even as a shadow, even as a dream

by aryelee



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Angst, Gen, Longing, Takes place after Prince Caspian and before Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 06:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20634869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryelee/pseuds/aryelee
Summary: Moments between goodbye and hello.(aka: Caspian wonders about the Pevensies as they try to adjust to life back in England.)





	even as a shadow, even as a dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quecksilver_Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quecksilver_Eyes/gifts).

> title from Euripides: "Come back! Even as a shadow, even as a dream."
> 
> for the narnia summer gift exchange
> 
> i recommend listening to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeuvegBZFuM) while reading

The night feels quiet now. Empty, almost. 

He’s given up on sleep; under the care of the moonlight, Caspian wanders the grounds until he can see the door at the edge of the cliff. Though he had seen Aslan weave magic into it, he still found it hard to believe tree branches stacked onto each other could form a doorway to another world. Closed, now, with no chance of opening again unless Aslan willed it. 

Capsian gazes at it, his heart heavy with sorrow. It was only hours earlier that he had watched the Telmarines and the Kings and Queens of Old vanish through the door. The sky he could see out past it’s opening was the Narnian sky he loved dearly; what was it the Pevensie’s saw? What sky did they look upon?

The stars offered no comfort or guidance; without the sea, the stars are just stars. 

When the dawn comes, Caspian will don his crown and set forth fulfilling his promises as King. Even now, after Aslan named him and his bloodline rulers of Narnia, he feels too young and unworthy to bear the weight of the crown. It would be better if a Narnian took the throne, if Aslan remained to rule over his people, if the Pevensies  _ stayed _ \--

He may not know how to rule a land full of fairytales brought to life, but he’s seen how Miraz ruled and knows what he must never do. Guidance from Miraz is better than none at all, no matter how Caspain feels on the matter. 

Tomorrow, he will begin to learn all there is about Narnia. These histories will no longer be spoken in whispers; he’ll record everything so it may never be forgotten. Tomorrow, he’ll give his everything to bring peace and prosperity to Narnia. Tomorrow, he will become King Caspian and no longer belong to himself.

Tonight, under the stars, searching for the shadows of friends now gone, Caspain is just a boy with stars in his eyes, chasing dreams and looking out into a world full of impossible realities and so much to learn.

But he will remain alone.

  
  
  


There are cracks in the universe. Small fractures where different worlds cross and intermingle. There are few left; the last ones, surviving the march of time, hidden in this world. Lucy knows the wardrobe is out of reach, and the train station is just a train station. Still, she will search, peeking down alleys and behind corners in the hopes she stumbles across one.

“Lucy,” Susan calls from the entrance of the station, “Come on, we’ll miss the train.”

She glances back into the alley one last time, then walks away. It feels like there’s a piece of her missing these days. Only a week since they’ve left Narnia, and they all long to go back. Here, in England, in these bodies, they are not their true selves. Lucy watches how Susan walks through the crowd, following just a few paces behind; her gait is still that of a queen, one that demands respect. The crowds part as much as they can, people moving without ever noticing who they’ve moved for.

For now, Narnia lingers in them, but Lucy knows it’s only a matter of time before that disappears as well. If it hurts her, it must be worse for the others. 

Peter and Susan, who will never go back, hurt the most. She’s sure of it. But they hide it well, with soft sighs and sleepless nights that Lucy only notices because she can’t sleep either. It’s a heartbreak they all share, but as the eldest siblings, they will keep quiet about it and endure the pain until they can fall apart when no one is watching. 

She wants to talk about it, talk about all of them, bring them back together again. But she knows from experience that they all must smother their own pain before they can go back to the way things were.   


Peter and Edmund are waiting for them at the station, sitting on a bench idly watching people pass by. She sits besides Edmund and waits for that pinch to come again, but every day she’s waited, and the pull of magic never appeared. The train comes, and the walls of the station don’t change; they board and nothing changes.

The disappointment never leaves her. Lucy longs to go back to Narnia. To dance with the dryads, to play with the fauns, to breathe in air that isn’t filled with smoke; she longs for another lifetime lost. 

Edmund gently takes her hand and sits beside her on the train. Ever since their first trip to Narnia, he’s been watching over her as best he could. The pain of his betrayal will always linger within him. So Lucy doesn’t say a thing. She leans against him and gathers the strength to plaster on another smile and survive the day. 

When the four of them get off at their stop, following the crowd of students, Lucy watches as Peter straightens up and holds his head higher, and Susan squares her shoulders and keeps her eyes forward. Only Edmund looks off to the sky, statue-still as the crowd moves around him.

Lucy’s always known that she has her heart on her sleeve; there’s never been a reason to hide how she feels. But Edmund, quiet, withdraw, thoughtful Edmund, keeps his cards close to his chest. 

She’s never seen him look so heartbroken before. 

  
  
  


_ In the dawn’s gentle light, your soul whispered to me, “Welcome home.” _

_ _ _ _ _ The stars have guided me to you once; once more, I shall follow them. _

  
  
  


“Your Majesty, you’re up early again.” Cythalia, the willow dryad, greets him as he walks through the long hallways. She’s one of the first aides he’s appointed, and over the course of the year, they developed a friendship outside titles and spoke at length about Narnia’s history. She settles in her place a step behind him, following him to the courtyard.

“Sleep has weakened its hold on me lately, it seems,” Caspian replies. He’s grown familiar with Cair Paravel now, having wandered it’s rebuilt halls many nights when the dreams were too much to endure. The Pevensie’s helped recreate the floorplan of the castle from memory before they left, wanting to bring back their old home. 

Edmund had told him about the sunrises he’s seen from his balcony during the Golden Age, how the sky slowly warmed with color, the dark of night slipping away to make room for the sun. 

“I’d fall in love with the sight every morning. It gave me the strength to become a better king; all I wanted was to keep Narnia safe so all may see the beauty this world has to offer,” Edmund said to him two nights before he left. 

The memory is one of many he keeps close to his heart; the softness of Edmund’s dark eyes, the gentleness of his voice, the way he looked silhouetted by the moon. In that moment, he felt at peace, unburdened by the sudden weight of the crown.

He chases that feeling now, waking up early to watch the sunrise, to see what Edmund saw, to find a fleeting moment of peace before he continues his work to help the citizens of Narnia live happily. 

Caspian looks out to the sea, to the horizon, and breathes in the salty air. Cythalia places her hand on the trunk of a nearby tree, and waits. They’ve gone through this enough times to know Caspian will speak first.

“What do you remember of the Kings and Queens of Old?” he asks after a long moment, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Cythalia runs a finger down a groove in the bark. “I was barely a sapling when they first arrive,” she says, “but the forest spoke of them long after they left. I heard stories of four children who saved Narnia and brought in endless light. Of High King Peter, who often sat amongst us trees and listened to us sing, of High Queen Susan who let us adorn her hair with our flowers, of King Edmund who protected saplings and and saw our potential to help Narnia as spies, of Queen Lucy who danced with us in the night.”

“Did you ever meet them?”  


“No. By the time I was able to leave my tree and take this form, they were busy travelling and ruling Narnia. Then they left. I fell into a deep slumber and only awoke to the sound of Queen Lucy’s voice.”

Caspian turns to her at long last, and though he has grown taller and stronger, his eyes are still that of a young boy listening to fairy tales for the first time. 

“Do you miss them?” Cythalia asks, looking over him with worried eyes. Her concern is touching, and Caspian can’t help but smile. Just three years ago, he would have never imagined that one of his closest friends would be a dryad with long hair dotted with yellow flowers and a low voice that drifts on the wind. He once pictured his life as King as a lonely one, helping others then returning to the castle alone; what Narnian would befriend a Telmarine? 

Cythalia always smacks his arm when he says that. She’d reassure him that she extended her hand to a lonely Narnian, not a Telmarine. To have a kind friend such as her is a gift Caspain would be forever thankful for.

“I miss them greatly,” Caspain confesses. “I first saw them as children barely older than me, then as heroes, then as friends. I only wish I had gotten to spend more time with them after the war. Sometimes, I dream that they walk these halls and wait for me to catch up. I wake alone, and it always hurts.”

The flowers in her hair wilt ever so slightly. Cythalia looks out to the sea and forces on a smile. “They must have been truly wonderful for you to love them so much.”

“They were.”

“I know there is little I can do to help you carry this pain, but I will always be here if you need to talk. We’re friends after all. You can rely on me.”

She pats his shoulder, then steps back. “Let’s head in. You have a long day ahead of you.”

Caspain turns to follow her back inside. As he steps off the soft ground onto carefully laid tile, he can see in his mind’s eye Peter and Susan walking alongside Aslan the day of their departure. He forces the memory away and prepares himself to begin the day.

Just before they cross the threshold, Caspian says, “Thank you, Cythalia. I am honored to call you a friend.” 

“As am I.”

The pain of waking after chasing a memory of Edmund has eased. Though it won’t ever leave him, with a friend by his side, he can endure it for another day.

  
  
  
  


Peter wonders how many times he can offer to an ear to Edmund before it becomes too much. The first time they came back, thoughtlessly and clumsy, Edmund had spent his days at the manor wandering the grounds, trying to adjust to his young body and learn the lay of the land again. Peter would like to think he has some idea of what Edmund will do to cope with leaving Narnia again; wander and ponder and quietly find his footing in England again.

This is not what Edmund does. 

He spends hours in silence, staring at the sky through a dirty window, his schoolwork completed and set aside. He sleeps in erratic bouts, oftentimes up late at night, drinking tea with Susan as they pretend that they’re fine. He looks lost these days, heartbroken and defeated, and Peter  _ knows _ it’s not because he left his torch in Narnia.

So maybe one more time will do the trick.

“Hey,” he says, trying his best to keep his voice low and gentle, “Ed, you know you can talk to me right? If there’s anything on your mind.”

Edmund doesn’t look at him. “I’m fine. You don’t have to keep checking up on me, you know.”

“You’ve just got me worried. You spend all day looking lost and sad, how am I supposed to ignore that?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

Peter sighs. “Ed. Come on.”

“You make me feel even more guilty every time you ask, you know.”

“Guilty?”

He turns to look Peter in the eye. “Yes, guilty,” he repeats, “Because I miss Narnia, but I know there’s a small chance I may go back one day, but you won’t. Why would I talk about Narnia when I know you miss it more than me?”

“That’s not your fault--”

“The least I can do is not bother you with my brooding.”

Peter drops a hand onto Edmund’s head and messes up his hair as best he can. When Edmund’s successfully fended off Peter’s attack by leaping up and putting distance on them, he’s stopped looking so down.

“What was that for?!”

“You were being stupid, so you deserved it.”

Edmund stops trying to fix his hair to pin Peter with a disbelieving stare. “I’m stupid for being considerate about your feelings?”

Peter pretends to consider the question for a moment, then says, “Yes. You’re making up problems that don’t exist. Talk to me about Narnia. It’s something we all shared. Just because I can’t go back to Narnia again doesn’t mean I want to forget we went there.”

Though he’s never been the most patient of people, Peter is prepared to wait centuries if that’s what it takes to help his siblings. 

“I just miss it,” is all Edmund has to say after a few minutes of silence. 

They all miss Narnia. That much is obvious. And they’ve all drifted apart to handle their own pain without amplifying another’s. Susan’s taken to collecting quiet, beaten down girls and shaping them into warriors, a habit in Narnia to help women find their own power. Lucy’s taken to drawing landscapes and portraits of Narnia, trying to bring some of it back into England. Peter himself is focusing on living in England again, studying and looking out for those around him, ready to catch any of his siblings if they stumble.

But Edmund is stuck in his sorrow, searching the skies for  _ something _ and quietly getting through each day like a ghost stuck in a routine. It’s not just from leaving Narnia; the loss goes too deep for that. 

“Ed,” he says, worried and wondering if he’s done something to make Edmund so reluctant to talk to him.

“I just keep thinking about it. I wasn’t ready to leave. I wanted to stay.” He goes still. Quiet. “I wanted to stay.”

“I know, I know, I did too,” Peter says, guiding Edmund to sit down. 

With a great, heavy sigh, Edmund collapses onto the edge of his bed and hangs his head. “We were gone for a thousand years. How much time will pass before I enter Narnia again? I don’t think I can handle losing everyone again.”

Peter feels that he’s finally understood. A memory of Edmund and Caspian talking quietly together in a courtyard under the stars comes to mind. He had left them to talk, knowing they only had a few days left before they had to say goodbye, and wanted them to have them time to themselves. 

“Are you afraid you’ll lose Caspian?”

“We just barely met,” Edmund whispered, “But I wanted to get to know him. I wanted to help him.”

No wonder the loss runs deep. Though he may return to Narnia one day, he will most likely never see Caspian again. There’s little he can do to offer comfort, but he’ll try.

Wrapping an arm around Edmund’s shoulder, Peter says, “Don’t give up hope so easily. After all, he still has Su’s horn, doesn’t he? He may call for you again.”

“Maybe,” Edmund says, and the silence that follows tells him Edmund won’t speak again for the rest of the night.

A month later, Peter will say goodbye to Edmund, Lucy, and England. He will board a ship headed to America with Susan and their parents. They’ll try to move forward with their lives, find a way to make a name for themselves outside Narnia, and live as best they can. When they leave, Edmund and Lucy will hug them tightly, and Peter will beg Aslan to let Edmund see Caspian again one day.

But that comes later. For now, Peter leaves Edmund to handle his grief in silence, and makes sure that none of the boys at school try to go after him. He makes tea for Edmund on his quietest days, and waits, ready to be there for his siblings again.

  
  
  


_ _ _ This longing has burrowed into my bones. _

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ In silence and in sound, I shall search for you. _

  
  
  


It’s only at sea that he feels whole. There is no pretending, no masks to wear, no lies to tell. Under the sun with the sea beneath his feet, Caspian has never felt more himself. He is more accustomed to the way the ship rocks than he is to the steadiness of the land. He longs for adventure and looks out to an ever-distant horizon, dreaming of sailing to the edge of the world and seeing all that Aslan has created. 

Cythalia never comes with him; she cannot leave the land in which her roots grow. So instead of accompanying him, she bullies the crew into letting go of their preconceptions of him and seeing him not as a king, but as Caspian. 

The fear and respect the crew has for her always makes him grin; for such a gentle dryad, she’s not afraid to bare her teeth. 

So he sails along the coast of Narnia, wandering through towns and speaking to people, always looking for ways to improve. He sails to distant lands in discuss trade and alliances. He looks to the stars and let them guide the journey, finding the constellations Cornelius taught him as a child. 

“The brightest star in the sky, Aslan’s eye, shall always show you the way,” he murmurs to himself. With most of the crew below deck, sleeping, he is surrounded by the sound and smell of the sea. The waves crashing against each other, rocking the ship, filling the air with the scent of salt. He is alone at night, quiet and melancholic. The night watch keeps their distance, and never mention his nighttime stargazing in the day. 

Even after two years, Caspian finds himself thinking of the Pevensie’s at night. They’ve left his dreams to haunt his waking hours; he wonders about the Narnia they ruled, how it’s changed, if they would be happy with the decisions he’s made as king. He wonders about the life they live in their original world. He wonders how different it is in Narnia.

When he looks to the stars, Caspian thinks of Edmund, the talks they had late at night before he left, and wonders if he looks to the stars in his world and thinks of Narnia. 

He wonders if Edmund misses what they could have been as much as he does. 

Caspian keeps his gaze on Aslan’s eye, and wishes for an answer.

  
  
  


Susan refuses to talk about Narnia. It haunts her thoughts, plagues her dreams, and never lets her get a moment of rest. She wants to cry, scream, rage at losing the land she ruled and loved for years. She grew up from schoolgirl to queen and back again, and now she can’t find her footing in either world. 

Susan refuses to talk about Narnia. It hurts too much. 

But for now, she will listen. When Peter wakes up from nightmares about old battles and disorienting dreams of returning to Narnia, she sits with him at the kitchen table and listens, offering silent comfort as the clock ticks on the wall. And when Lucy sends her paintings of Cair Paravel and Tumnus and the centaur she was teaching archery to in her last year as Narnia’s High Queen, Susan keeps them safe and carefully hidden away from her parent’s eyes. 

And when Edmund sends letter after letter, telling her about the hurt and loss and longing he carries, how he’s terrified that in the time they’ve been on Earth Caspian has already died, how he doesn’t know if he’ll ever survive leaving Narnia this time around, Susan will listen. She will write back about America, and offer tips on getting through sleepless nights, and promise him that he will survive this.

Not once will she ever mention Narnia, but Susan will remind him that what he feels is real and nothing can ever take that away from him.

Not ever her.

  
  
_ _ _ My heart has not known silence since I met you. _

  
  
  


Caspian is too scared to wonder too much about why he misses Edmund the most. He has gotten used to the ache in his chest when he thinks of the Pevensies. He can live with the few memories he has of them. 

But his memories of Edmund are the brightest; small smiles and hushed voices, starlight and gentle hands. If he looks too closely, it will only hurt more. So Caspian tries to push it aside, ignore it, forget about the wonder he felt the first time he heard Edmund laugh. 

He focuses on the sea and guiding his crew through the waters, sparring with them on deck and looking out for any sea monsters that may decide to try to make a meal out of them. The thrill of adventure makes it easy to smile as they travel; the world is full of wonderful things the Caspian carefully documents in his journals, always searching for more knowledge. As a child, he had never imagined the world to be so beautiful, but he stands now with his crew and his heart is (mostly) full.

At night, dreams of Edmund fill his sleep, where they talk of the stars and finding their place in the world, not as two kings, but as two friends. Caspian tries to forget these dreams, no matter how impossible it is.

“The air is sweeter here,” dream Edmund says, “Not full of smoke that coats your lungs until you cough up ash. It’s a lovely world. Take care of it.”

_ I will,  _ he thinks,  _ I promise you, I will care for this world as best I can. _

Above him, Caspain can swear he sees Aslan’s constellation smile. It must have been his imagination, but the sight filled him with light, so he holds onto it anyways.

  
  
  


He’s lucky that Lucy is still with him. With Peter and Susan gone, England is unbearable. There’s another war brewing; he knows the cost of battle, how it takes and takes and takes and still demands more. He’s no king here, and no one will follow him. But he can fight and protect the land he lives in now.

If he is of age. Which he is not.  


Edmund tries to enlist time and time again, but Lucy always appears to drag him back. He’s all she has left in England, and he knows he shouldn’t leave her, but there will always be a part of him that demands sacrifice, that tells him he is still not forgiven for his betrayal. 

“I just want to be worth something here,” he tells her one day as they make their way down the streets, Lucy peeking into alleys and around corners. “I want to be more than just Edmund.”

“You’re my brother,” she says, “The Just King Edmund. You’re enough, so stop trying to throw yourself into a war that has nothing to do with us.”

It’s an argument that never ends, so he stays silent the rest of the way back to their Aunt Alberta’s house, where they count the days until their parents are back from America so they can never see her again. 

Lucy is quick to collect any mail addressed to them, then disappears up the stairs to her room. Edmund follows, brushing passed Eustace, who says something to him that he ignores. Lucy’s room is their only sanctuary now, where they can take a moment to breathe without anyone criticizing them. 

He reads through the letter Susan sent him, advising him to cherish the feelings he has as the strongest tie he has towards Narnia. She never writes out ‘Narnia’, but it’s implied enough that Edmund knows where it goes. Peter adds a little note at the end telling him to make tea if he can’t sleep and to look after Lucy. 

“It sounds like they’re doing well,” Lucy comments as she finishes reading her letter. “America sounds nice.”

“Anywhere sounds nice compared to here,” Edmund says, smiling when Lucy collapses onto her back, groaning dramatically.

“You’re right about that.”

“Do you still miss it?” Edmund asks suddenly, the words pulled out of him without warning.

“Hmm?”

“Narnia. Do you still miss it?”

Lucy sits up and regards him carefully. “I always miss it. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish to return. Why?”

Why indeed. He looks to the painting in her room, of a distant ship on a vibrant sea. He swears he can hear the waves, but he doesn’t say a thing about it. The waves are as real as the dreams he has about walking the halls of Cair Paravel with Caspian.

“No reason,” Edmund answers, “Just curious.”

That is where this will end, that day. But the next day, when the two of them go through this routine again, Lucy will talk more about Narnia and the waves in the painting will come to life. For now, Edmund looks at the painting, listens to the waves only he can hear, and feels something settle in his chest. 

**Author's Note:**

> poetry fragments in between scenes are all original. i just couldn't think of a decent poem to put them into lol.


End file.
